Author: brendawontbackdown

Brenda is awake and is having her ventilator removed in an hour. Quite groggy but attempting to talk and setting off all the monitors in doing so. Eye makeup intact – thank God.

So after ten hours the operation is done and we are assured a success. Mr Moran has resected the tumour and removed Brenda’s appendix, spleen, uterus, ovaries and gallbladder. He has also performed a right hemicolectomy  but he has preserved all sorts of other bits which means she will not have to have a stoma fitted. This is fantastic news and will buoy her up a great deal

Thanks to everyone for their love and positive thoughts. I can’t thank Brendan Moran, the surgeon and his team enough what a superhuman effort. Over 400 people in 10 countries have been in touch which is a tribute to my ‘Wonder Woman’ wife.

With thanks for the use of his drawing  and rhyme to Ferdinand van Alphen

B’s surgeon, Mr Moran, has just called to say that although it was larger than he thought that he has been able to resect the entire tumour in Brenda’s abdomen. He has taken the long list of organs forecast and a couple more bits and bobs. The great news is that he has been able to preserve certain things that would have compromised B’s quality of life – so very positive. It has been a big operation to date, with four or so hours left to go. As a consequence she will be kept asleep all night…which saves me from another night in the children’s ward. No news on the tummy button front.

I left Brenda this morning at the doors to the operating theatre. We took a photo of and gave a kiss to Brenda’s tummy button which she’ll lose in the process. I will hear from Brendan the surgeon around lunchtime as to how things are progressing.

I’ve had lots of lovely messages, cards, calls, etc. over the holidays to wish me a Merry Christmas and to say that people are thinking about us. It’s been really lovely. Many have acknowledged that it would probably be a very difficult Christmas for us. I’ve actually had a lovely Christmas. While I am increasingly aware of this ‘jelly belly’ that I am carrying, it has not stopped me from enjoying myself with my family and friends – we’ve eaten and drunk too much, played silly games and laughed until we were almost crying, we’ve watched Christmas telly while fighting over the best of the Quality Street and I’ve continued to run in the park with Madelaine and Bonzo. I even went to music ‘gig’ with Teddy on Boxing Day. However, I realise that it’s been very hard on my family – at this stage, it’s much harder for them, than for me.

I woke up in the middle of the night last night tangled in wires. I had gone to bed with my noise cancelling headphones on listening to an Insight Timer sleep meditation app. As I lay awake in bed at 1am, I realized that this time next week, the surgery will be over and I will be lying in bed in the Hampshire Clinic with real tubes and wires. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to be brought round in the high dependency unit with all of the various drains, drips and in particular the nasal gastric tube. Not to mention the bandages and large scar. I’m sure that it will be a bit scary, but I’m sure that the epidural and morphine drip will be helpful mitigants. I am going to focus on the fact that this time next week I should be cancer-free and starting the journey on my road to recovery.

I then went through my mental checklist of preparation for the hospital – I have a new wardrobe of lovely pyjamas and loungewear and some cashmere slippers, I’ve got my new travel blowdryer and travel electric toothbrush, I’ve got my light up Wonder Woman, lavender pillow spray, eyeshades, and earplugs. Today I will start putting together the books that I want to read, download some box sets on my iPad, create some new playlists, and get a supply of batteries for my noise-cancelling headphones. I’m also going to do some spreadsheets – get all of my friends phone numbers and emails organized for my mum, and some lists for Trend. Focusing on all of the organizational details is somehow comforting.

I’m sure that it will all get a bit more ‘real’ as we get closer to the 3^rd of January, but for now I’m going to keep enjoying the holiday – bring on the Quality Street and rubbish telly!

10 December 2016 Over the past two weeks I have been going through the process of telling my colleagues and friends about my recent diagnosis and upcoming surgery. I decided that it is best to be completely open and honest about it and to reassure people that I will only be out of action temporarily, that I will be cured, and that I am feeling very positive about things. I have to say that while the process of telling my story has been somewhat draining, the wonderful expressions of support and love that I have had from everyone has been an incredibly uplifting and strengthening experience. I feel bad when people don’t know what to say, or say something stupid by accident – I realise that it’s a shock and it’s difficult to process. Several people have welled up with tears that they were clearly fighting to hold back as they didn’t want to upset me. It hasn’t upset me at all. All this support has had the effect of making me feel invincible. I have had offers of prayers, candles being lit for me in churches, joss sticks in temples, jokes to keep me amused, lovely candles to keep me calm, gifts of champagne to enjoy before my surgery, and many offers of help post surgery. I have been incredibly touched by the random texts, emails and What’s App messages from people wanted to check in and see how I’m doing. I feel like a bit of fraud, I think to myself. I’m doing fine. I’m feeling great. Nothing has changed other than the fact that I now have a piece of information that I didn’t have before. Annoyingly, the result is that I will have to have major surgery and be out of action for a while to deal with it, but I will cope and come April, things should get back to normal. In the meantime, I’m carrying on as usual but am trying to get everything in order before going to hospital. However, sitting at the kitchen table this morning alternating between the papers and social media, I suddenly burst into tears. I have no idea what brought it on, it just happened. It was like some sort of spontaneous combustion – I started sobbing for no reason at all. I had posted something on Facebook about Teddy being in Paris and singing with his school’s chapel choir at Notre-Dame tomorrow and I think the idea of not being there to hear him must have brought back some of my initial fears about missing out on my children’s lives. Emotions are a funny thing, as I have not consciously felt sad or scared at all for the past few weeks. Since meeting my surgeon, I have been very confident about being cured, and have felt nothing but strong and positive. I guess unconsciously there is a lot going on in my mind and it just had to work its way out. As no one else was home, I decided to go with it, and have a really good cry. I then put on some music and danced round the kitchen to ‘Shake It Off’.